Chapter 9

Pierce

My heart is pounding like I've never experienced before. I can't escape without her turning around. If she turns around, I can't be held accountable for my actions. I don't know what'll happen next. And I hate unknowns. The way her supple skin feels against my palms. Even the quiver in her body radiates through me and feeds an excited beast that lives in me rent-fucking-free.

"Please, don't hurt me," she says softly, a sniffling following afterward.

Something in me cinches. Suddenly, I remember all the nights in the almost two weeks she's been here as I've stood over her. All the tossing and turning. The pleading for her life. The shouts of alarm coming from her. And I'm now the aggressor in her story.

And while it was fun to be the man in the shadows, being the one pressing her down into the bed all the sudden has lost its luster.

I let her go and back up, knocking into the dresser.

A bottle of perfume teeters before tipping over the edge and thumping to the floor.

"I didn't mean..." I stammer, images of Cynthia with blood gurgling from her lips as her eyes had gone vacant before me flutter through my mind. "I didn't... I was just..." Breathing heavily, I dart for the hall door that'll lead me to safety.

I can't fall apart in front of her. I can't do this. I've got to get out of here.

I make it to the front porch, heaving in the cold New York air. Shaking my head, I try to clear out the images that've haunted me nearly five years now.

Stop it. Stop it! Get out!

I punch the side of my head, growling when they persist.

"Are you alright?" a small voice asks, and I realize I look like a fucking maniac.

"I'm fine," I snarl, not turning around.

Quickly, I make sure that my mask is intact and still covers half of my face—the half scarred from the explosion. It is, and I calm slightly.

A hand touches the side of my arm, and I jolt at the feeling. Turning, I back toward the railing of the porch.

She puts her hands in the air in defense. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

An absurd laugh comes out of me. "You didn't mean to startle your stalker?"

She smirks. "So, you have been stalking me? I knew I wasn't crazy!"

I shake my head in disbelief. "You're awfully calm."

She shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as the wind blows. "I write fiction. Living it is something very different, I'll give you that, but I can bounce back pretty easily."

"But that's from living with demons inside. Not from writing," I blurt without thinking.

She turns and heads back into the house, and I chide myself inwardly. We'd gone from prey and captive to something I don't even have a name for in what seemed like an instant.

"Close the door, it's cold," she tells me, moving back down the hall, unaffected by my presence.

Closing the door, I look after her in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"To bed. Unless you have anything else asinine you want to say first?" She turns and pins me with her dark eyes. "Don't go back into the fucking walls. It's creepy."

Her door slams behind her, and I hear the lock click.

Fuck. There's no way in when the door is locked.

Oddly enough, the principal bedroom doesn't have an entry into or out of the passages.

I'm left standing in the living room in disbelief.

I'd gone from dark and broody stalker to being given the cold shoulder in the blink of an eye, and I don't know how it had happened. Other than I showed her just how fucked up I am. She didn't seem to judge me for it, though. Didn't look at me with fear or pity. She genuinely looked concerned.

Half of me wants to go beg forgiveness for hurting her feelings. The other half wants to break down her door and demand to know what her nightmares are about. I've been watching her. Whatever it is, is bad. And murder is at the forefront of my mind. Whoever harmed her is surely someone I can get my hands on.

Well, after the snow.

I've been snowed in this house, slinking through the shadows to steal her groceries, for almost two days now. Not that she's noticed. She filled the house for a family of five, when she only eats the noodle cups.

I don't know how she survives off two meals a day. And the small amount she does eat, isn't healthy.

I'm at the base of the stairs when I hear the door to her room open. She doesn't emerge. Once again, I'm left standing in confusion. When I move down the hall, I try to be silent, but she knows I'm here now. I confirmed it when I got caught. She'll be listening even harder now.

Pushing the door open a little more, my eyes land upon her lying in the bed.

"If you're going to come in, at least have the decency to wait until I'm asleep," she grumbles.

"Well, why did you open the door?" I ask.

She sighs and rolls over, looking at me through heavy lids with beautiful, full lashes. "Because I feel safer knowing you're here."

I laugh, and then cover my mouth. "I've been watching you for almost two weeks. How are you safer here with me?"

She shrugs one shoulder and rolls back over. "I'm an excellent judge of character. I don't feel anything bad coming off you."

"Coming off me?"

She waves her hand in the air. "You know, bad vibes. You don't have any of those." She drops her hand back down on her side and yawns.

Rounding the bed, I drop into a chair on the other side. Her lashes flutter open again.

"I don't know how I couldn't have any bad vibes coming off me."

"Just because bad things live in here," she taps her temple, "doesn't make us bad people. Our brains and our memories are our worst enemy sometimes, you know?"

I cock my head at her. "I do know."

I've been fighting my memories since the night my last case had gone awry. And most days, I don't think I'll ever come out the victor.

"Are you, though?" she asks, covering a yawn.

The way she's relaxed in my presence is astounding. But she's been living on edge for almost two weeks. She'll be tired now that it's over. She's caught me out.

"Am I, what?" I ask.

"Are you alright? You looked..."

Here we go.

"Looked what?"

This is the moment she says I looked insane. Like I was losing my fucking mind. Which, sometimes I feel like I am.

"Haunted," she finishes, giving up on sleep and sitting up, back against the headboard.

I'm quite literally shocked. No one's ever seen me have a moment, and not looked at me like something was wrong with me. Like I'd grown a third leg.

"We're all a little haunted," I tell her.

And she lets her head droop as she looks toward me. "I like that."

I smile, and it catches me off guard. I don't remember the last time I smiled. Luckily, she can't see evidence of the monumental moment through the dark.

"Everyone deals with their demons differently."

She nods. "That's for certain. I throw myself into my work."

"I avoid them at all costs."

She looks at me long and hard. "That's not healthy."

"So I've been told." I roll my eyes.

I wonder how odd this is from the outside looking in. Me, sat here with half a mask on, talking to the woman I've been stalking for the last two weeks. Her, sitting up and consoling her fucking stalker.

"Why aren't you afraid?" I ask.

"I don't know." A laugh bubbles out of her and she looks up at the ceiling fan. "I thought I would be. And I was when you grabbed me. The idea of you was fucking terrifying. But then when I saw you on the porch..."

"Oh," I cut her off, "you think I can't hurt you because I'm insane? All the more reason to be afraid."

Her gaze snaps to me as she shakes her head. "No, more like, I saw a kindred spirit in you and knew I'd be fine."

That stops me in my tracks. I'm so used to being the butt of everyone's jokes. The one who stands out in a crowd when I can't handle how many people are in the crowd. But she sees past all of it. To the middle of me.

It's a little terrifying, to be honest.

"Why have you been watching me?" she asks, and I'm surprised it took her this long.

"There's just something about you. I swear I don't do this. I'm not this man..."

She smiles, and my words die as I take in the pure electricity behind her lips curving upward on her beautiful face.

"You saw me for me, too."

I nod.

"Are you stuck here with me?" she asks.

I nod again, feeling a little foolish for not having any words to give her. But she throws me off balance. She's nothing like I expected.

"Oh, what a Christmas we'll have, hmm? A stalker and his victim."

Something has changed in her voice. Her eyes are fixed on me, and she's biting her lip. Something I've seen her do a million times over the days I've been sneaking through the walls.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I'm going to bed." She slithers down under the covers, and I stand and make for the door.

"You can stay," she whispers as her eyes flutter closed, and a sigh signals her descent into the dreamworld. And even though now I'm found out, I sit back down in my chair. I tell myself I'll only stay another hour. Because this shit is too weird for even my fucked-up brain to fathom.

But I know I don't want to leave and go back to the cold attic. Because something about her feels like… I don't know. But I know this is where I want to be.

* * *

I waketo the sounds of keys clicking furiously. Looking around, I realize I've slept next to her bed all night. And my neck cringes when I move to straighten out. My hands fly to my face, checking that my mask didn't slip in the night. She doesn't bristle at my movement.

"Fuck," I groan.

Hazel turns in her chair, thick black glasses on the end of her nose. A smirk on her lips.

"Good morning, stalker. I was wondering when you'd wake up."

"What time is it?" I grumble, trying to rub the kink out of my neck.

She looks at her phone. "Ten a.m."

What?

"I haven't slept this late since... Well, I can't remember the last time."

She goes back to typing, ignoring me completely, and I don't know what to do. Before, I'd watch her. That was my day. Now, she knows I'm here, and I have no fucking clue what to do.

"You snore," she announces randomly. "But, I find I like it. Kind of like white noise."

I look at the back of her head with amusement filtering through me. "I'm glad I could help."

Her phone is sitting next to her, and I have to wonder if she's called the police on me. If I were her, I would've.

She turns and follows my line of sight before turning back around. "I didn't call anyone. Why would I? Also, who would come save me? Have you seen outside?"

Moving to the window, I peel a blind up to look out. Snow has covered her car again. I'd asked the snowplow company to keep it free of snow, but there's no use it in it now.

"Damn, has to be like twenty feet out there," I say absently.

"Perfect time to trap a single female in your murder house," she replies.

I turn and eye her. "I didn't plan this. You're the one who booked my house for rent."

She gasps and turns. "So you are the owner of this house. So, your last name is Augustine, hmm?" She turns back to her laptop, pulling up Google.

Moving toward her desk, I snap it shut. "If you want to know about me, you ask me."

Her brown eyes in the light of day are almost caramel. Smooth and warm. They grasp me within their glow and I lick my lips.

"Okay then," she starts, "what is your first name, Mr. Augustine?"

Something about the way she said my name has me shifting on my feet. "Pierce."

She bites her lip, and now I'm wondering what that's a tell of. Before, I thought it was nerves. Now, I'm thinking it's something much more delectable.

"I already know your name, or I'd ask."

She smiles. "And what is my name?"

Oh, she wants to hear me say it, does she?

I bite my tongue. She is a fucking firecracker. "Hazel."

I draw it out, caressing the z in the middle.

Her lips part ever so slightly as a small breath escapes through them. "I made breakfast," she says. I find she does that when she's uncomfortable. She'll change the subject, to shift the nerves inside of her.

But I see her. And I know what she's up to.

I lean down, confidence building, because I can tell she's just as drawn to me as I am to her. "Tell me, Hazel. Last night, when I whispered into your ear, and your body responded to me, was that fear or excitement? And be honest, I'm trained to sniff out lies."

The last part makes her eyes go wide. "The truth?"

I nod. "The whole truth."

She licks her lips, and I almost groan. "Both. I was so afraid, but when I leaned back and saw even the slightest portion of your face, let your presence wash over me..."

My hand gripping the back of her chair flexes. "I'm waiting."

"I was aroused. I'll not deny it. But adrenaline will do that to you, won't it?"

I shake my head. "Not when one is truly afraid, little ember. No."

"Why do you call me that?"

I grasp a loose, long curl off her shoulder. Lifting it and twirling its silk-like feel between my fingers, I revel in each strand rubbing across my calloused hand.

"Your hair. It's so fiery and bold, like an ember still holding on after the fire's gone out. Waiting for fresh wood to be added so it can stoke the next flame."

A pant leaves her open lips, and I turn my face toward hers. Far closer than I should have. The likes of her...

She's like dynamite, and I'm a man who needs to stay away from it.

A man in recovery.

"That's beautiful," she finally says breathlessly.

"You're beautiful."